Untitled [2]



I think back tonight

on recent history

to folds in time

where roads were unmapped

before routes were rote


To hours I’d find myself

spitting into cans

the thoughts my mouth

couldn’t accommodate

wadding into pockets

the maybes of the day


To my overstuffed

attic of a mind

the collection of dusty memories

preventing me

from igniting the world

with just a little dirt

 and determination


Leaving it to follow

the pavement

on someone else’s heels



Photo credit: outsidethefray


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